So chanted the heavily bouffanted male half of the presenting act before the crucial voting got under way in Thursday's second semi-final heat of the Eurovision Contest Moskva 2009. The semi-final was instituted to separate the wheat from the chaff, a good idea spectacularly ruined by the organisers doing the hard work and then throwing away the chaff. If Eurovision is anything it is chaff, all chaff, and nothing but chaff. By going with the wheat they allowed both the big-haired Serb and the man in the lurid green gimp suit to fall by the wayside. Little wonder the cognoscenti call it "the stage of heartbreak".

Disappointing as this was no criticism can be made of the mechanics of the voting itself. Eurovision possesses a scoring system to rank with tennis. A close Eurovision is tenser than a tied basketball match with 1.09 on the clock and no time-outs remaining. It it something to be cherished. And then adapted for use in the wide world of sports.

My first thought was to ring around a few people and see if we could get any enthusiasm going for Champions League Eurovision. The format writes itself. Every team to qualify for the first group section would hold secret karaoke testings before selecting one of their number to go to, probably Rimini, to compete against his peers. The idea looks strong. Frank Lampard singing songs for swinging lovers up against Cesc Fábregas intoning some of his poetry in his native Catalan would attract big brand advertisers and, if packaged right, viewers.

But it would be a lot of effort and there is a very real danger the whole thing could end up camper than Cowell (see the extraordinary I will follow Ronaldo song on the fine website Who Ate All the Pies). Therefore, I have limited my ambitions to imposing the scoring system on to an existing event, the European Footballer of the Year. As far as I am aware this is currently decided with little fanfare by a few hacks who work for France Football.

Missed opportunity, surely. Let's move the deliberations from a dingy Left Bank cafe to the spanking new O2 Arena beside the Thames. As with Eurovision the player selected by the richer countries (England, Germany, France, Spain, Italy) would automatically qualify for the final whereas the relative paupers (Scotland, Azerbaijan, Wales) would have to navigate the stage of heartbreak.

The process would be simplicity itself, with a short video of the player showing off the skills which made him an obvious choice as his country's player of the year being followed by his appearance on stage to field a few questions (favourite car, most difficult opponent, if not a footballer … etc) from a reinvigorated Des Lynam. So far, so cosy but things will become distinctly edgier with the scoring. Who, for instance, will the Welsh vote for if they cannot vote for Ryan Giggs? Could an eastern block vote mean that a Moldovan does for Cristiano Ronaldo? If Gerrard was the English player of the year would United fans vote for Vidic?

The abundance of questions suggests that we don't just have a show but an institution on our hands. An annual event. A curtain-raiser to next year's World Cup. A night fit for the Beckhams. But what do I know? Any confidence in my own opinions has been dented by a poll which stated that 50% of people would like to see alcohol banned at football grounds. Even assuming only two people contributed, this is still bewildering. What next? An alcohol ban in pubs?